Chard Grass
by Tom T. Thomson
Summary: A young boy is left without a home. He turns to the Sarafan to help him revenge the vampires that killed his family. Chapter 1 up.


Disclaimer: Do not own Legacy of Kain. Other better people do. Do own nameless boy. Please take what is not mine but leave what is mine here. Thanks.

He picked at the grass with his good hand. It used to be green. It's now black. Not brown. Black. The fired didn't care about the bodies that were buried there; this patch of grass used to be the graveyard for the fallen. For the fallen in war against the vampires. Maybe it would be a graveyard again for those who died tonight. Those who died by the fire. The fire didn't care about the lives it took tonight. The fire starts cared. After they set his hometown on fire, they ran through the streets cheering. He didn't care what they wanted. All he wanted was…

A sob finally broke through his dry and cracked lips. The tear that followed found its way into the blood caked cracks in his lips. The salt in that little amount of water stun but he still didn't care.

He raised a hand to ripe away the tears but he only accomplished rubbing soot in his eyes, making them water even more. The light didn't help his poor hurting eyes either. The constant flicker of the flames still eating away at the houses throw shadows everywhere and the movement hurt his eyes.

His eyes were not the only things that hurt. His arm hurt from where the fire bit him. His left hand hurt from being crushed by falling rocks. His stomach hurt from being punched. His right hand was cradled in his burned arm; it was broken. If he survived this it would have to be removed. Patches of hair had been ripped out by the roots when the fire starters, vampires, caught him. The blood had only just started to clot. And then his legs…

He tried not to think of what remained of his legs. The vampires had been ruthless. They had let dogs after him. Those dogs ate one of his legs to a stump just below the knee. The other was completely gone. Ripped off in some kind of game the vampires seemed to be playing with him. To his right, if he dared look, which he didn't, was his foot. His thigh was somewhere behind him. He didn't care where the rest of his body lay. He just wanted to go home.

But he was home. The fire was kept alive by the houses, his house. His home. Why did they have to come here? Why!

"You know why."

Another sob became caught in his aching throat as a shadow that did not waver fell over him.

"Look at me child."

He looked up but didn't stop picking at the chard grass.

"Do you know who I am?"

Of course he did. Everyone knew the vampire Vorador. He was hard to mistake.

"Who did this to you?"

Why did this vampire ask such questions? Vorador knew who did this to him. He was the one who sent them. But a mortal such as he could not say such a thing to the father of all vampires. Vorador asked a question; he would have to answer. He looked at the burning buildings. Vorador got the message.

_Those who burned my home did this to me_.

"What do you want now? You have no home. If you do live, it will be no life at all."

He finally stopped picking at the grass. His fingers had become black from the action.

"…Wh…" His throat hurt too much to make any kind of word. Was the vampire offering what he thought he was?

"Do you wish for release?"

His fingers had become black from the action.

"…Wh…" His throat hurt too much to make any kind of word. Was the vampire offering what he thought he was?

"Do you wish for release?"

Yes. I want the pain to end. Like you said even if I did live, it would only cause me pain. Please kill me! End this!

He looked down and shook his head.

"Very well."

The shadow moved on.

I will not let you get a way with this. I will hunt you down and make you pay for every blow you have delivered.

He looked back up and watched the master vampire leave. It was hard to focus as the skin around one eye had been melted away.

_I will get you, you bastard!_

He turned to go his own way. He knew where there was a small settlement near here where people were raising arms against the vampires. They were calling them selves the 'Sarafan'. He would learn how to walk again. He would learn how to move again. He would learn how to see again. How to kill. And kill he would. Oh yes. His family would be avenged!

Foul, revolting, cruel, heart less, vile… 

Blood started to flow once more from his wounds but he didn't care. Rocks under his body ripped new cuts into his flesh but they did not faze him. He did not care that his legs were at best not functioning and at worst non-existent; he would reach his destination. It was five miles to settlement. He heard rumors that they wanted everyone and anyone they could get. Well, they could have him.

To Be Continued.


End file.
